


Double-Take

by Marzos



Series: Hourglass [2]
Category: Carmilla - Fandom
Genre: AU somewhat, Angst, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzos/pseuds/Marzos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the funeral of her mother, Jamie Hollis has some mixed feelings, to say the least. All she wants is to get through the funeral and try to move on. </p><p>But when she sees someone at the grave that she did not see during the service, Jamie learns that her mother's life was nothing like she had been led to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double-Take

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in March in preparation for an event that was cancelled. As such, anything that is not compliant with S2 should be ignored. Hope you all like it.

Everyone says you both look exactly like your mother, even if it wasn’t exactly true. You must have inherited some genes from your father, whoever he was, because Mom didn’t have blue eyes or the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.

Still, when your name is called and you stand, you can hear whispers of it just the same.

“Hey, Jamie,” you look down at your brother, who has taken your hand.

“Yeah, Tom?”

“Just...good luck, okay?” He lets go and you stare ahead as you walk toward the front of the church. You don’t _need_ the podium, you have it all memorized, but you like having something to clutch in your hands.

Most of the faces sitting in the pews are strangers to you and your brother. In the back you see Tommy, sitting next to Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch. LaFontaine and Perry are sitting in the pews across from them, Perry bawling her eyes out on her spouse’s shoulder. LaFontaine, eyes glistening, flashes a watery smile and gives you a thumbs up. You take a breath.

“...So, when I was told to give the eulogy at my mom’s funeral, to be honest, I felt like the least qualified person to tell you all about her life. In fact, I feel like one person standing up here to tell you about Mom _couldn’t_ be enough. There are so many of you here today, and all of you have stories about the amazing things she’s done for all of you. So, if I can communicate with you even a sliver of the kind of person Laura Hollis was, I will consider this a success.

“Laura Hollis made her career helping people. Whether she was in a refugee camp in the Middle East, or with natives displaced by logging companies in the Amazon, Mom couldn’t stand by and watch bad things happen. Before she would leave, she would always tell us that she was ‘off to save the world again’. Mom was a hero, she was a friend, she was an amazing mother, and anyone who would say differently just because she spent so much time trying to save the world...well, I am her daughter, and I can tell you that you are absolutely wrong. Even though I only got to have her here for seventeen years, I know that through the people she helped, she is going to live on forever. Thank you, Mom, and I’ll miss you.”

There isn’t a dry eye in the church. As you sit back down, Aunt Danny squeezes your shoulders.

“That was great, Jamie. You should be proud.”

“Thanks,” you answer. The truth is, most of that was a lie. What you said in that speech is the reason you’re not sad today, just uncomfortable and numb.

* * *

 

The funeral is over. You and Tom were the last ones standing at the grave before you leave to go to the repass. You’re almost back up the hill where your cars are before Tom nudges you.

“Hey, Jamie, you forget your jacket?”

“Oh, crap, I took it off in the church!” you gasp.

“Can I meet you at the restaurant then? I’m kind of insanely hungry.”

“Sure. Shit. I have to walk all the way back up this hill…” This is really upsetting you, for some reason. Maybe it’s just the day making you emotional. Tom puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey. It’s not a big deal, okay? Don’t let today get to you.”

“Right. Right.”

“You know, if you want me to walk back--”

“No, it’s fine, Tom. Save me a seat?”

“Yeah. And I’ll make sure I stop at the dessert table first thing for you.” You smile a little. Having a twin can be kind of nice. Even if he acts more like a big brother sometimes.

As you walk back down the hill, wishing desperately that you had pockets in this black dress, you purposefully turn your head to avoid looking at the grave.

But a figure kneeling in the grass in the corner of your eye makes you look back.

She doesn’t look much older than you; you don’t recognize her from the service, and you would have remembered her, because she’s not dressed for a funeral. She’s wearing a black shirt and skinny jeans, a leather jacket pulled tight around her body. She isn’t crying, but there’s something about the way she’s kneeling in front of the headstone, almost reverently, that makes it more heartbreaking than any sob.

On the other hand, call it natural curiosity (it runs in the family), but this was a random stranger paying her respects at your mom’s grave. So you make a little ‘a-hem’ noise at the back of your throat.

She’s startled and scrambles to her feet, hands jammed in the pockets of her jacket. When her eyes settle on you she looks as though she’s seeing a ghost.

“I’m sorry, but who the Hell are you?” you ask. For some reason it amuses her; her mouth quirks to the side in a smirk.

“No one important. Who are you?”

“Jamie Hollis,” you answer. “Listen, I’ve had kind of a rough day, burying my mom and everything. So, can you tell me what you’re doing here?”

At the mention of your name, her gaze had softened; you’re not surprised. You’ve been dealing with the pity for the past week since the helicopter crash.

“I was...a...a fan. I saw all of her broadcasts, read her books. I moved here recently, so I figured why not.”

“Oh,” you feel a little bad about your sharp tone now. “Well, thanks for coming. I just came to grab my jacket from the church, so…”

“Can I walk with you?” she says suddenly.

You should say no; the word is on your tongue, but something stops you. Maybe the way she’s looking at you. Like you are the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

“Do you always offer to walk with strangers?”

She runs a hand through her hair. “No. Just the cute ones.”

You can’t help the slight blush creeping up your cheeks as she eyes you up and down. “Uh, then sure. I can use the company. What’s your name…?”

“C...Mircalla. Mircalla Morgan.” You nod politely as you both walk back to the church.

“Mircalla. Well, that’s a nice name…”

* * *

 

“Aunt Danny, tell Jamie to stop trying to grab the controller from me!”

“You’re both _seventeen_ years old, figure it out, guys!”

Tom huffs and sinks into his beanbag chair. You laugh.

“I wouldn’t be if you gave me a turn at the game, Tom. Or at least did two player.”

“You always win in two player,” Tom grumbles.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Whatever,” Tom pauses the game. Looks up at the ceiling, running his fingers through his curly brown hair. “...Jamie, who do you think we’re going to end up living with?”

You’re perched on the windowsill. You hop off, hands on your hips. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t we stay with Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch?”

“I heard them talking with Aunt Perry and LaF on the phone. It sounded like they’re trying to decide who we should stay with.”

You shrug. There’s an open can of coke still on the windowsill and you grab it, taking a sip. “LaF and Aunt Perry are great too.”

“Until Aunt Perry starts making us shampoo the carpets once a week.”

“But we’d also get brownies. I’m willing to shampoo the carpet if I get Aunt Perry’s brownies.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “You would do anything for brownies, Jamie. I’m surprised you don’t empty sugar packets into your mouth,” and Tom sighs, covering his face with his arms.

“I miss Mom,” Tom grumbles, “I don’t want to move.”

“ I hope we get to stay here. Aunt Danny felt more like a mom than her.” Tom looks at you.

“Jamie, don’t talk about Mom like that.”

You fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist. “It’s hard to miss someone you barely _know_ , that’s all.”

“But it wasn’t, like, her fault that she had work. And when she was home, she spent lots of time with us.”

“...Sure,” you answer, and there’s an awkward pause, because Tom is loyal to a fault--you’ve told him so. And so there are things about Mom he refuses to acknowledge that you’ve accepted for as long as you can remember.

Tom speaks first.

“So hey, Uncle Kirsch said he’d take us to see that new X-Men movie tonight. Want to come?”

“Uh, can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t feel like seeing a movie.”

“Jamie, don’t lie. You _love_ superhero movies.”

Tom could read you like a book sometimes, and this was one of them. You look away from him, crushing the now empty soda can. “I...kind of have a date tonight? I think?”

And Tom practically tangles himself up in the beanbag chair, struggling to sit up straight.

“A _date?_ With who? Since when?”

“Since, like, yesterday? I met her when I went back to get my jacket.”

“You picked up a girl at Mom’s funeral,” Tom says flatly.

“It wasn’t like I planned it! She was there, we started talking, next thing I know she asks me to have dinner with her.”

“And her name is…?”

“Mircalla Morgan.”

“So, let me get this straight. You agreed to go out with a stranger you talked to for what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, who gave you a name I am pretty sure is fake because seriously, who names their child Mircalla in the twenty-first century, and this doesn’t bother you at all?”

“...Maybe I inherited Mom’s thirst for the truth?”

“Well, you’re definitely thirsty,” Tom answers, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up!”

“How hot was she?”

“Not important,” you grumble, even though yeah, she _was,_ and Tom sees right through it and grins.

“In other news, Aunt Danny is going to _flip_ and Uncle Kirsch will probably try and give you a high five.”

“Oh no, they’re _not._ You are not telling them!”

“Why not? She could be a--a serial killer or something--”

“Okay, she was way too hot to be a serial killer.”

“--Which I’m sure is what they said about Ted Bundy.”

“Look Tom, I just--” But it’s _true,_ totally true, and there is nothing you could use to reason this into a good idea. So you flail a bit. “--Everyone expects me to be like Mom anyway. And a mysterious woman was at her grave yesterday. I think she’s not telling me something, and if Mom were able to talk to me, she’d want me to figure it out, right? The hot thing is just a bonus.”

For some reason, Tom’s gaze softens. “...You shouldn’t feel like you need to be like Mom, Jamie.”

“Well, that’s what happens. She died and now everyone is waiting for her daughter, the spitting image, to continue her ‘legacy’ or whatever. Well, if I haven’t been adventurous before now, I start tonight. Please don’t tell Aunt Danny?”

Tom gives you a long, hard look before sighing. “Fine. But you better keep your cellphone on you. And call me as soon as it’s over.”

A grin spreads across your face. Maybe ‘what would Mom do’ wasn’t such a bad thing to live by after all.

* * *

 

The restaurant she told you to go to was this very small bistro, the kind that sold a bowl of soup for twenty dollars and was illuminated only by candlelight. You feel very out of place here. Mom was filthy rich, and you and Jamie certainly were aware of the fact that you had a lot of money coming your way in inheritance, but frankly? Your favorite restaurant is Friendly’s.

It’s seven, and she said to come at six thirty. You’re really wishing you had gotten her number instead of just agreeing to meet here, because maybe you got the place wrong. Or she stood you up. Great.

But then you see Mircalla walk in, lock eyes with you from across the room, and purposefully stride over to your table.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Mircalla! Hey,” she sits down and you relax. “Uh...I like your outfit. Your pants are very...shiny.”

Shiny. Great. Your mom was the Great Communicator of journalism, and your best line is ‘your pants are very shiny’.

“Thanks. They’re vinyl.” Mircalla crosses one leg lightly over the other. You feel so mismatched. You were wearing a dress to this place; she was wearing vinyl pants and cufflinks. Were you overdressed or was she underdressed?

“Well, either way, they’re really cool. Um...this is a really good place. Have you been here a lot?”

“Yeah. They don’t card you here.”

“Wait, what--”

And then the waiter comes to your table, and before you can say anything Mircalla says, “Glass of pinot grigio.”

“And for your friend?”

“Virgin scotch and soda,” you answer, and the waiter raises an eyebrow and walks away.

“You know virgin is no alcohol, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, basically, you ordered a soda.”

“Pretty much. I’m seventeen.”

“I’m eighteen and a glass of wine hasn’t killed me yet.” Mircalla answers with a shrug. There’s a brief pause, which you _really_ want to avoid turning into an awkward one, so you pick up your menu.

“ _Although,_ I’m really into this rum cake that’s on the menu. Would it be weird if I ordered dessert first?”

She likes that. A warm smile spreads across Mircalla’s face and she nods. “The lava cake looked pretty good to me too. Want to skip the dinner?”

“Sure!” You exclaim, maybe a little too excitedly, but she laughs, so you guess it’s alright.

The waiter comes back; you both order your dessert and you can’t help but lick your lips a little in excitement at the thought of eating super expensive cake. If it’s twenty dollars it better be the best cake of your life.

“...You really like your sweets, huh?”

“Yeah. I take after my...mom...a lot that way.”

Your smile flickers for a fraction of a second. Mircalla leans in closer, the dim lighting highlighting the sharp angles of her face.

“So, what is it like being the daughter of intrepid explorer and reporter Laura Hollis?”

You lean back a little. Mircalla’s smile falters.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It was too soon to ask you that, right after--”

“No. Really,” and, since things are already awkward, you go for broke and ask, “Can I ask you something first though?”

“What?”

“Are we on a date?”

And Mircalla’s eyes widen. “Well, this is awkward.”

You can feel a hot blush spreading across your face. “Oh my God, you’re straight aren’t you, I am such a spaz--”

“Oh, God no, I am extremely gay,” Mircalla corrects, “It’s just...I mean, you’re cute, but I just moved here. I was more putting myself out there for, uh...friends.”

Friends. This wasn’t a date. Wow, was Tom going to have a field day with this when you get back. “This is an expensive place to take your friends.”

“Well, a girl has expensive tastes. What can you do?” She takes a sip of her wine, and you gulp down your soda.

“Okay. So, let’s reset then,” you answer, “You want to know about my mom?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it--”

“It’s the least I can do for putting you through this awkward-fest.”

Mircalla opens her mouth, perhaps to protest again, but then closes it. “Okay. Tell me then.”

You sigh. “Having Laura Hollis as a mom was...well, not as glamorous as it sounds, to be honest.”

“Why not?”

“She was gone. Like, _all the time._ She’d be home barely a month before she’d be off on some brand new crusade. And even when she was home, she was very nice to me and Tom--you know, my brother--and everything, but she was also super distracted. Like being home bored her...hey, can I have a sip of your wine?”

Mircalla slides it over to you. It burns your throat as you swallow, and maybe it’s just a placebo since it’s only a sip, but the alcohol works to loosen you up somewhat.

“Must not have been easy.” Mircalla said with a frown. The waiter comes and places your food down. You talk between large bites of rum cake.

“I mean, I don’t want to make it out that I have this tragic childhood or anything,” you continue, “I had Aunt Perry and LaF, and my Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch--”

You see Mircalla practically choke on her cake.

“Sorry. Sorry, zoned out for a second. My bad,” she says, still struggling not to laugh. Ooookay.

“Anyway, yeah. Aunt Danny is really like my mom, to be honest. She almost married my mom when Tom and I were really little.”

Whatever she’s thinking about now must be unpleasant, because her nose wrinkles slightly. “...Really. What happened there?”

You shrug. “They’ve never told us. They got engaged, we all went on vacation. Tom and I were, like, three? And then afterward they broke up. Aunt Danny never talked to Mom much after that, but she stuck around for us. Mom had us so we could all be a family, so I guess she always thought of us as her kids.”

There’s something about the way Mircalla listens to you--head tilted slightly to the side, lifted slightly in interest, nodding every once and awhile--that makes you want to tell her all of this. It doesn’t feel weird to spill your secrets to a stranger when it’s a stranger that listens so well. And doesn’t seem to find it weird at all.  

“But Uncle Kirsch is awesome, so it all worked out, right? I remember this one time…”

And while you finish your food you tell Mircalla all of the good memories about your childhood--baking brownies with Aunt Perry, winning your school science fair every year with help from LaF (who pretty much did it all themselves, without fail). And, of course, hanging out with your Aunt Danny. Who, yeah, you have to admit, pretty much hero worship.

“...Wow. And none of those memories include your mother.”

“Well…” You wrack your brains for something significant, because however you feel about Mom, you certainly don’t want to tarnish her memory. Especially not the day after her funeral. “...Once I had this falling out with a girl I was dating, and she outed me at school. When Mom found out she took me out for ice cream, helped me make a breakup playlist, and called her parents to get her grounded. _That_ was pretty cool.”

Yeah, you have to admit, for all her faults she could be pretty awesome. The waiter puts the bill down on the table.

“That sounds like Laura,” Mircalla whispers, then adds hastily, “I, uh, mean, from what I’ve seen of her.”

You take another sip of your soda, staring thoughtfully into the glass.“You know what really bothers me though? Those natives in the Amazon still lost their homes, those refugees in the Middle East are still refugees--she was an adrenaline junkie. She had like, no attention span. She’d have one really passionate cause, then just drop it like she never really cared...you know, like she was just doing it for the publicity. I want to think she’s this hero everyone says she is, but it’s hard. You know?” You laugh. “And now I’m probably boring you, huh?”

Mircalla is looking down at the floor, candlelight lighting only part of her face. For awhile she seems to be thinking hard about the patterns in the carpet.

“Mircalla?”

“...You want to go to my house?”

_WHAT?_

“Y-your house? Why?”

_This isn’t a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date._

“Because I like talking to you, and they won’t appreciate us hogging the table.” Mircalla opens her purse, throwing a crap-ton of bills onto the table. “My apartment is only a block up. You coming or what, cupcake?”

Wow. Okay. W _hat would Mom do, Jamie?_ Or, in the words of your mother, _What would Lois do?_

They’d both say yes, that’s what. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you nod and follow Mircalla out.

You raise a finger. “Give me a mo’. Gotta call my brother.”

You hear a sigh of relief as soon as you say hello. “...Thank God. Okay, if you’re being held hostage by a serial killer, ask me how the dog is, okay?”

“Tom, I’m fine.”

“Good. You coming home then?”

“Uh, no. I’m kind of going to her apartment now.”

“WHAT?”

“Okay-sorry-for-the-change-of-plans-bye!”

_“Jamie what the Hell don’t you dare hang up that cell phone--”_

“Yep, just telling my brother I’ll be home late, we’re cool,” you tell Mircalla after you hang up. You know he won’t tell Aunt Danny. Because telling Aunt Danny would mean telling her he let you do this in the first place. And if there’s one thing he fears more than you getting murdered, it’s having to face the wrath of an angry Aunt Danny.

You walk in silence the rest of the way, and when you finally get to the apartment, Mircalla unlocks the door, and sits down at a small table in front of you.

“Sit,” she says firmly, and how can you not listen to that?

“Uh, sure,” Mircalla leans in, and wow she’s kind of close, and she’s looking so intensely at you that you’re starting to wonder if maybe she’s changed her mind about the whole ‘not a date’ thing.

You thought you’d be prepared for this but you are most definitely not.

“Listen, cupcake--”

“--Can I use your bathroom? Like _right now?”_

That startles her. “Uh...yeah, sure. Down the hall and last door on your left.”

You get up from your seat and power walk down the little hallway. You are an idiot. There was a possibility that you were being hit on by a gorgeous woman and instead you get up to use the bathroom, in the most awkward way possible. What she must think you’re doing from the hurried way you rushed out…

You’re so into your own head that you don’t even notice you forgot to turn; you open the first door you come to, which you realize after you open it is the one at the end of the hall. From the bed it must also be her bedroom.

It also slightly, just _slightly_ , _freaks you the fuck out._

“Holy…”

Your mom is everywhere. There’s posters on the wall, photos, magazine covers pinned above Mircalla’s bed with a thumb tack. A big map, with pins and string like she was tracking where she went. You take a very tentative step toward the bookshelf next to her bed. You pick up a book.

 _The Gilded City: Uncovering the Corruption Within_...yep. That was the last book Mom ever wrote. And you have a sinking feeling that the rest of these hardcovers are hers too. There’s a picture of her, grinning on the front cover, hands on her hips. You yelp, dropping it on the bed. Maybe it’s the general creepy feeling, but her eyes seem to be following you. You grab your cellphone from your pocket.

“Jamie, I swear--”

“Tom? How is the dog? HOW IS THE DOG? _HOW IS THE DOG?”_ You whisper urgently into the phone, held close to your ear.

“...I KNEW IT!”

 _“Shhh!_ Can you do the ‘I told you so’ later? Tom, she has a shrine to Mom in her bedroom. She’s, like, a creepy obsessed stalker fan and now I’m in her house, where she’s probably going to cryogenically freeze me and keep me as a statue or something--”

“Cupcake, you okay in there?”

“--Just a minute, Mircalla! Listen, Tom, _please help.”_

“Just calm down Jamie, alright? She hasn’t done anything yet. Give me directions and stall her. I’ll call you when I get there. I’ll tell Uncle Kirsch I feel sick and can’t go to the movie.”

You hastily give him directions, thank him, hang up, and march stiffly back to the table.

“Uh, so, where were we…”

“You were in my bedroom, weren’t you,” Mircalla says flatly, and since frankly you’re practically bursting at the seams to confront her--even if confronting the stalker fan might be a bad idea--you explode.

“What, does that make you uncomfortable? You have a SHRINE TO MY MOM IN YOUR HOUSE.”

Mircalla fidgets nervously. “I told you I was a fan--”

“Fan? Fan? You’ve got blown up pictures of her above your bed. That’s going beyond fan and straight into creepy. Is that why you asked me out tonight? Mom is dead so you decided to obsess about the next best thing? Seriously, if you’re going to...to kidnap me or whatever, why don’t you just get it over with? But I’m warning you, my brother is on his way, and you do not want to get our Aunt involved--”

“Believe me, cupcake, I know I don’t want Danny involved in this. And I’m not a stalker--okay, so maybe it was a little obsessive. I’ll give you that one. But I knew her.”

“Meeting her at a book signing does not make you soul mates. You think I haven’t heard this before? Mom would read creepy fanmail to us for fun.”

“I knew her a _little_ better than that.”

“Then stop skirting around the issue and tell me.”

“...I was about to before you got up. Alright. Buckle up, creampuff.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“The first thing you should know is my name is not Mircalla Morgan. Well, _Mircalla_ is technically my name, but I don’t go by it anymore. My name is Carmilla Karnstein.”

You nod.

“Ring any bells?”

A shake of the head. “Not one.”

Carmilla sighs. “Can’t say I’m surprised. She tell you anything about her college years?”

“Only that it’s where she met Aunt Danny.”

“She really wanted to forget everything, huh...well, I knew her in college too. We were roommates. Actually, a lot more than roommates. For awhile.”

It’s pretty clear from the tone what she means. You can’t help it; you start laughing.

“Now I _know_ you’re crazy. Mom was forty- eight when she died and you said you were eighteen--”

“I am a vampire.” And before you can deny that insanity, she opens her mouth. With a hisss her fangs slide out.

“...Oh my God, my mom dated a vampire,” the color is draining from your face. “How long?”

“Until she was twenty-five. I broke up with her. The whole mortal-immortal thing tends to make those relationships losers, you know? I didn’t want her to waste her best years on me.”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be. This made _no sense_ , none of it makes sense, but what possible reason could she have for retractable fangs besides vampire? And if that was true, why would she be lying about everything else?

“So.” you try to keep your voice as level as you can. Mom wouldn’t freak out. She’d get interested. She’d swallow down her fear until she got the full story. She wouldn’t let her emotions stop her from knowing the truth.

And as much as you had...a complicated relationship with Mom, you know she was good at her job. “So, you dumped my mom. I’m assuming you didn’t keep in touch, because she wasn’t telling me about my good ol’ Aunt Carmilla.”

“...It was for the best. It would have been too hard for us,” and here Carmilla took a breath and exhaled through her nose, “It kind of was.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You said Aunt Danny and Laura broke up when you were three?”

“Yeah?”

“That wouldn’t have happened to be a vacation to _Paris,_ was it?”

“I...I think...Christ, just _tell me.”_

“I ran into Laura there. It’s always been one of my favorite places in the world...I went back there after we split. I don’t know if she was expecting me to be there, or if it was a coincidence, but God as soon as I saw her it was like nothing had changed and--”

You can’t take this anymore; it’s too much, too much, too much. You slap your palms on the tabletop and stand abruptly.

“You made my mom cheat on Aunt Danny.”

“Jamie, I didn’t mean for--”

“Do _not_ call me Jamie. You do not even deserve to be talking to me. How could you do that? She was going to be my mom. We were going to be a family. They won’t even talk to each other now.”

“...I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better I don’t think Laura ever forgave herself. And I’ve spent every year since keeping my distance.”

“She was looking for you, wasn’t she? That’s why she kept leaving. That’s why she was always making up these BS causes to travel to new places. It was all chasing leads. She was trying to follow _you._ Oh my God...I bet you were in Israel last week, weren’t you?”

Carmilla doesn’t answer. She looks down at the tabletop. “I was trying to do the right thing. As you can tell, I’m a little rusty at it.”

“That’s an understatement. One more question, before I leave and try and forget this ever happened...if you were trying to leave Mom alone and whatever, why am I here right now?”

Carmilla doesn’t answer.

“Is this a game for you or something? Because it sounds like you had a tendency to show up, screw with my mom, and then leave her devastated.”

And Carmilla looks up at you with an intense, burning gaze.

“...I wasn’t going to tell you who I was. I just--I loved your mother. God, I know you’ll hate hearing this, but I loved Laura with everything I had. I would have done anything for her. I would have given up my immortality if I could have. All I wanted was to  talk to you and figure out if Laura was happy.” Carmilla shakes her head sadly. Her voice drops to a whisper you strain to hear. “From what you said, it sounds like she wasn’t.

“So no, I wasn’t planning on the night going this far. I didn’t even plan on seeing you again after we left the restaurant. But when you said you didn’t think Laura was a hero--I couldn’t let Laura die with her children thinking that about her. Long story short? I wanted to give you these. I grabbed them while you were in the ‘bathroom’.”

And Carmilla reaches into her purse, pulling out several CDs.

“Laura made videos in college. A _lot_ of videos. She deleted them but I had saved them,” Carmilla flashes a wistful smile, “for posterity.”  

Your phone vibrates. It’s a text from Tom.

_Jamie, MAKE A RUN FOR IT._

“I have to go,” you say, pocketing the phone, “Tom is going to bang on every door in this building if I don’t get out there.”

“Ja--kid, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

You don’t look at her as you collect your things. “Sorry? You broke my mother’s heart, broke off all contact, had a fling with her years later and broke up my family, broke off all contact _again,_ causing Mom to almost die of guilt and leaving Tom and I to spend most of our childhoods raised by family friends, while she searched the world endlessly for leads. Which included a trip to Israel to,” here you use air quotes, “‘Cover the conflict with the Palestinians’. A trip where she _died_ in a crash. So please. Tell me how sorry you are. That makes it all better.”

She’s in your peripheral vision. You relish in the way your words make her flinch, like each one is sticking her with a white hot needle. And she takes each stab like she knows she deserves it; like she kind of wants to be punished.

“Are you going to take the videos or not?”

You open your mouth; the phone rings again. You glare at Carmilla, grabbing the CDs from her violently, and storm out.

You don’t look back.

* * *

 

Tom takes every moment he can get to yell at you. You get an earful on the car ride home, of course. After that he gets a few sentences in whenever your Aunt and Uncle aren’t around--they’ve moved into your house until they figure out where you’ll both be living.

“...Grandpa wants to take you guys,” Aunt Danny explains one day at the kitchen table, “We’re trying to reason with him, but you know your mother was an only child…it’s all very personal for him.”

“But Grandpa lives, like, halfway around the world,” Tom says with a frown.

You don’t say anything. You have the CDs in the pocket of your jacket. You’ve been taking them everywhere with you now. Sometimes you’d be staring at a garbage can, or bending them in your hands as though to break them, but at the last moment you’d walk away or your hands would relax before the breaking point. You’re not sure why you can’t bring yourself to throw them out or watch them. You haven’t even told Tom.

Okay, the truth is you know exactly why. You are scared. Scared because you _wanted_ to know the answers, but once you got even this small bit of information things are worse off than before.

You understand Mom better now--what you always wanted--and now you wish you didn’t. Now you know that she didn’t choose her career over her kids; she chose a vampire over her kids. And cheated on the closest thing you’ve ever had to a mother who was around. You’ve been getting flashbacks, to things you’d overheard Aunt Danny say on the phone with Mom that are a hundred times more significant.

_(Laura, please don’t tell me you’re leaving again...no, don’t you dare! These are your goddamn kids, maybe I hoped you’d spent time with them instead of chasing...you know what? Forget it. Fine. They’re great kids, Laura. Maybe one day you’ll get to know them.)_

At the same time, how can you ignore what might be the key to unlocking an entire part of her life that she refused to share with you? How could you make the decision without telling your own brother--

“--Jamie, does that sound cool?”

Yeah, you’ve also been a little distracted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Kirsch, what?”

“I said, me and Danny thought it would be cool if you and Danny had a day out. Me and Tom can do some bro bonding. How about it?”

“Sure. Sure, that sounds great.”

“Awesome! Come on little man,” Uncle Kirsch got up from the kitchen table, lifting Tom up by the armpits while he laughs. “We are going to totally bro-out today. I’m thinking burgers, maybe buy you a motorcycle--”

“Wilson Kirsch, over my dead body will you buy that boy a motorcycle--”

“I was just kidding!”

Tom laughs. “Uncle Kirsch, I’m going to be an adult in a year, I’m too old to have you carry me.”

“Fine. Then keep up!”

You and Aunt Danny both wince as Tom and Uncle Kirsch come dangerously close to knocking a painting off the wall as they run through the front hall and out the door.

“...Ugh. Boys,” Aunt Danny says, looking at their retreating backs with a bemused smile.

“Yeah. I’m lucky I don’t date them.”

“Try being _married_ to one.”

You chuckle a little at that. Aunt Danny doesn't. She turns her chair and leans in.

Uh-oh. This was Aunt Danny’s serious mode. She did the same thing when you stayed up past your curfew, or when your dog got hit by a car.

Or when, a week ago, she had to tell you that there was an accident…

“Jamie, you seem kind of distracted. How are you holding up?”

You fiddle with the charm bracelet on your wrist. “...Okay, I guess. All things considering.”

Aunt Danny nods. “You’re a tough kid, Jamie. You and Tom. I’m really proud of how brave you’re being.”

She calls you brave, and you feel you feel your chest swell with pride, because Aunt Danny is the bravest person you know. You’ve never seen her shed a single tear in all the time you’ve known her.

“But don’t feel like you can’t tell me things,” Aunt Danny continues, “I miss her too. She raised two fantastic kids,” she smiles and shakes her head, “Although you’re a lot more careful, thank God.”

Thanks Aunt Danny. By the way, did you forget to mention that you met up with a vampire yesterday? Alone? In her apartment? You’re totally careful.

“What I’m trying to say is, if you need anything, I’m right here.”

“...Aunt Danny, you’d tell me if there was anything Mom did I didn’t know about, right? Anything important?”

And you see it. The slightest aversion of the eyes. “Of course I would.”

You have been lied to enough, to your face and by omission. Your fists clench slightly under the table. Any doubt in your mind is gone.

“So why would you ask me that?” Aunt Danny asks.

“No reason. It’d just be nice to know something about her I didn’t know already. Want to go read books in Barnes and Noble?”

She smiles warmly, nodding before getting up to go to the car with you. The videos are burning a hole in your pocket now, begging to be played and to answer your questions once and for all.

* * *

 

“I bet you those CDs are blank.”

“They aren't. At least, I don’t think they are.”

“Why did you wait for me to get home before you checked them?”

“Because if these are what Carmilla says they are, I felt like we should watch them together.”

You’re both sitting on your bed, computer in your lap.

“You could have called, I would have gotten here sooner.”

You look at him, biting your lip. “To be honest, I’m kind of nervous to see them.”

“Remind me later to figure out what ‘Carmilla’ slipped you at dinner to make you hallucinate.”

“Tom, do I need to go over the whole ‘she had fangs’ thing again?”

You can tell he believes you in the way he grumbles, ‘whatever’. He’s just as nervous as you are. And this was information that required time to sink in, especially since before this Tom’s opinion of Mom had been pretty high.

“...I don’t believe Mom would do that. Jamie, she’s not a bad person. She just isn’t. And I know she missed a lot of things, and it hurt, but I can’t believe that about her. Not when she can’t even defend herself.”

“There’s one way to find out, isn’t there?” You take one earbud out of your ear, holding it out to Tom. With a look of grim determination, Tom grabs it and puts it on.

“Okay.”

“Yeah. Buckle up, creampuff.”

“What?”

“...Sorry. She said that to me yesterday and it kind of felt fitting?” You put on video player. Click the little start arrow and hold your breath.

….The screen is blank.

“Where is…?”

“I knew it was fake,” Tom says forlornly. “Let’s just--”

But then the blankness ends and your mother’s face appears on the screen.

_“...Silas University in picturesque Styria, where nothing, not even the homecoming goat sacrifice, can disturb the pursuit of knowledge…”_

Your mother. Laura Hollis. Nineteen years old, face devoid of the laugh lines and wrinkles she had gained in middle age, but as she speaks, solemn and determined, it’s as if she is right there in the room with you again. Telling you and Tom about another fantastic exotic land she’s visited.

As if it would make you forget you never went with her.

Tom’s mouth is slightly open in shock, and he looks as though he’s so happy he’s about to cry.

You feel a knot of anxiety weighing down your stomach.

* * *

 

The morning light is peeking through the curtains of your room, and you and Tom are struggling to stay awake, since you’ve been watching the videos all night. There was no way you were going to pause it to take a break.

When the final video ends, and there are no more CDs, you and Tom look at each other in silence. Then a smile spreads across your brother’s face.

“What?”

“Mom. You were wrong, I knew you would be!” Tom has jumped off the bed, fist pumping and generally looking like a huge dork.

You run your thumb across your wrist. “...I...I don’t know what to think now.”

“Don’t know what to think? You saw what she did. You saw what they _all_ did. If that doesn’t prove--”

“--She still lied to us our entire lives, and she was still never around. Now we know _why,_ but does it matter why?”

Tom glares at you. “Newsflash, Jamie: Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch lied too.”

You knew that. You didn’t want to think about it. “Tom--”

“You always acted like Aunt Danny is this perfect parent and Mom treated us like we didn’t exist. But she lied to us too, and Uncle Kirsch, Aunt Perry, LaF--”

“Tom, _shut up.”_

“--I’m just saying, it’s not black and white. Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch were good to us. But Mom was too. That’s all I’m saying. It’s not like these painted Aunt Danny as some angel.”

You look at the final frame of the video, and your shoulders slump. He’s right. You saw her threaten to kill several people (although her interactions with your uncle are more funny than aggressive knowing where they end up).

“What are you going to do now, Jamie?”

“Me. Why is it my job to decide?”

Tom reaches out, laying a hand on your shoulder gently. “Well, it was your intrepid reporting skills that got us these. You decide what we do about them. This is your story to cover, right? Time to finish it.”

You nod. Right. What did Mom always say? _A reporter never leaves a source unchecked._ Well, you had three separate sources--two couples and a vampire--to corroborate the events on these videos. Two of whom were going to be having breakfast downstairs.

* * *

 

The bi-weekly family brunch. A tradition since you were about five. You’re exhausted physically, but mentally you are actually feeling pretty sharp. The best way to get through this is to turn all of this energy into anger. Anger is easy to act on. Resentment is easy to make a confrontation over. Betrayal brings up a lot of messy crying and then you’ll never get what you want to say out…

You and Tom trudge down the stairs; you can already smell Aunt Perry cooking pancakes on the stovetop. LaF is entering your aunt and uncle with amusing stories about an accident in the lab.

“...Long story short, Perry doesn’t think the sharpie is very effective, but personally I think it’s better than having no eyebrows, don’t you think?”

“Totally bro, totally!” Uncle Kirsch says, giving LaF a high-five.

You give Tom a look. _Ready?_

There’s no going back after this.

Tom nods. You take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen.   
“Hey, kids!” LaF waves, “Perry is making your favorite--”

Without saying a word, you take the CD from your pocket. You’d written ‘Carmilla’ on it in sharpie. With a _plunk_ you slam the case on the table.

Aunt Danny stares at it, mouth agape. Uncle Kirsch squirms nervously in his seat. LaF looks at it, a wrinkle appearing in the middle of their forehead.

“Good morning kids, I made you chocolate-chip peanut butter!” Aunt Perry says in a sing-song voice, turning around. When she sees you all glaring at each other in silence she frowns, placing it on the table.

“What is going on here?” Aunt Perry notices the CD as she’s taking off her oven mitts and freezes. “Where did you get that…?”

“I think the more important question is, why didn’t we already know what was on them?”

None of them say anything. “Well? What about what you said, that you would tell me anything important about Mom? I think this counted as _important,_ don’t you think?” You look at your brother. “Tom?”

“...You guys lied to us,” is all Tom says. “Why?”

Aunt Danny speaks first. “Tom, Jamie, where did you get those CDs?”

“We found them--” Tom starts, but you interrupt.

“I met Carmilla at Mom’s funeral, went to dinner with her, then her apartment, and she gave me her copies.”

“You went _alone_ to a _vampire’s_ house?” Aunt Danny exclaims, getting up from the table.

“Jamie, any reason why you wouldn’t just say we found these in Mom’s closet or something?” Tom squeaks, staring up at six feet of angry Aunt. You stand firm.

“Because I’m tired of the lying. Yes, I went to a stranger’s house alone, Aunt Danny. And you know what? I’m glad I did. Because she at least felt guilty enough to let me know what happened. Why wouldn’t you tell us?” You look at LaF, Aunt Perry, Uncle Kirsch. “Any of you?”

“Jamie, honey, it isn’t that easy,” Aunt Perry says, “Laura didn’t want us to tell either of you. It isn’t our place to tell her how she should raise her children.”

“Not to mention, it’s a hard subject to just ‘bring up’,” LaF adds, “‘Hey Jamie, sorry Laura died, we all miss her so much...by the way, did we tell you that she dated a vampire?’”

“It looked like it was a lot more serious than you’re making it sound like,” Tom says.

“A lot more,” you add.You look at Aunt Danny. “Aunt Danny, Carmilla told me a lot more too. About you and Mom.”

And Aunt Danny stiffens, Uncle Kirsch putting an arm around her shoulders. “Danny…”

“If we’re going to talk about that, I want LaF and Perry to leave.”

“Talk about what?” Aunt Perry asks.

“About the fact that Mom cheated on her with Carmilla!” You exclaim and LaFontaine and Perry look shocked.

Oh wow, they didn’t know, did they?

But then you look at Uncle Kirsch. He looks just as surprised. _Oh no._

“...Danny, sweetie, you never told us that,” Aunt Perry says softly.

“Why would I want to talk about that?” Danny snaps, throwing off Uncle Kirsch’s hand. “Both of you. I’m...I’m not discussing this, okay? Why should I have to tell anyone? None of us wanted to ever think about Silas again, least of all me, and as much as I hate what she did, she’s _Laura_ and she told me not to tell you. How could I?”

“...Okay, now that Jamie has gone off on all of you, I have a question,” Tom says. “Mom is dead. Were you ever going to tell?”

The guilty looks on all of their faces is enough.

“Come on Jamie, maybe we should leave. I think we all need to cool off.” Tom takes your arm.

At first you’re going to say, _hell no,_ because you haven’t heard a real ‘I’m sorry’ from any of them, no real acknowledgement that they kept so much of themselves, of Mom hidden from you and were going to let you both die not knowing--but then you see Aunt Danny. Strong, brave Aunt Danny, crying in front of you for the first time in seventeen years.

“...You’re right, Tom. We should go.” You grab the CDs from the table.

No one tries to stop either of you, and for that you are grateful.

“That wasn’t cool, Jamie,” Tom says, “What either of us did.”

You’re not willing to argue with your brother right now. He is your only ally in all of this and, as you both stand on the sidewalk of the city, you wonder if after this he’ll be the only family you’re close to as well.

“...Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where else? There’s one more person we need to see. You should meet her anyway.”

* * *

 

You go to the restaurant, walk a block, and find what looks like Carmilla’s apartment complex. As you knock on apartment number 304, you pray to God that this is the right place.

“...Oh. You again. And I see you brought Thing Two.”

Tom waves awkwardly from behind you.

“Can we come in? It’s kind of important.”

Carmilla exhales through her nose and opens the door wider for you. “Fine.”

There are boxes all over the place. Tom walks in behind you, hand in his pockets, looking around the apartment. There are a lot of boxes. “Were you moving?”

“Nice way to introduce yourself,” Carmilla says, sitting down on the couch.

“Oh! Sorry, bro. My name’s Tom Hollis.”

Carmilla looks at you.

“He’s very close to Uncle Kirsch,” you reply, which is enough of an answer for the vampire.

“There’s nothing for me here,” Carmilla says with a shrug, looking at the wall. “Nothing new is going to show up at Laura’s grave, and I’m sure you both want nothing to do with me. So, if you were going to yell at me, or try and stake me or whatever, go ahead so I can finish taping these boxes shut.”

“We weren’t going to do that,” you say.

Carmilla turns her head toward you.

Tom walks into the living room as well. “Yeah, of course not. Do you mind if I drink this kool-aid I found in your fridge?”

“Be my guest, but it’s not kool-aid.”

“Then--” Tom’s face turns green and he hands the glass to Carmilla, shaking.

“Continue,” Carmilla says, downing the blood in one gulp and placing it on the side table.

“...So, we watched the videos,” you continue. You see Carmilla’s gaze starting to go back to the wall now. “They were definitely, uh...eye opening. Thank you.”

“How do you feel about her now?” Carmilla asks softly.

“Me? Well...Mom still did the wrong thing sometimes. She was still out of the country a lot. She was still kind of an absentee parent. The videos don’t really change that. But I do know two things now,” you hold up a finger. “One, Mom was _definitely_ a hero. Like, one of the bravest people I’ll ever know.”

Carmilla smiles.

“And two,” and here you take a breath, “you definitely loved my Mom. A lot.”

Carmilla closes her eyes. “Thank you. What does the other twin think?”

Tom looks as though he’s considering before he says, “A lot of things about Mom make more sense now that I watched them. Little stuff about her. Like, she used to _love_ stargazing. She would sit outside and just look at them for, like, hours. And she knew about all the constellations. Remember that, Jamie?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, “She liked telling us the myths behind them. For bedtime stories.”

“And Mom was into old books. She had a whole collection of philosopher textbooks. Nietzsche and Camus and all of those people,” Tom continues, “So I mean, yeah, what Mom did wasn’t _right_ , but after everything you both had been through, I kind of don’t blame her for wanting to see you again. So I guess these made me feel a little better. Plus, come on, Mom was a total badass--are you alright?”

She’s slumped over, head in her hands. Without thinking you put a hand on her back.

“Carmilla--”

 _“No,_ I’m not alright. She’s _dead,_ because she was traveling the whole goddamn world for me, because I _fucked_ her while she had a fiance and two kids then ran like she was a cheap one night stand. And the entire reason I did--because I wanted to give her a chance at a happy life with someone who could grow old with her--failed spectacularly. You need to believe me,” Carmilla looks up, her eyes glassy, “That if it wasn’t for me, Laura would have been a fantastic mother. I fucked her up. Don’t blame her for that. I can’t ruin her for her kids, too.”

She looks so strong yet battered, a marble sculpture that has gone through centuries of being hit by winds and storms. Through all the pain and sadness you can tell that when she knew Mom--you saw some of it in the videos--she must have been absolutely beautiful.  

No, you can’t forget the things Carmilla did. She wasn’t perfect. But neither was Aunt Danny. Or the rest of your family. But Carmilla did something they didn’t. She told you both the truth.

So, forget? No. Forgive? Give it time, but you want to.

And things you had brushed off as no big deal, small things--Doctor Who marathons every time she came home, dancing to Taylor Swift in the morning while she tried (and failed) to make pancakes before calling Perry, putting you and Tom in the dedication of every single book she ever wrote and talking about both of you in every interview--make you start to think that, after everything she had been through, she was being the best mother she could have been. And it wasn’t that bad.

“We’re sorry,” Tom says, “We’re really sorry. But if it helps, we’re glad we met you.”

“Yeah,” you say, “We are. Really. And if it’s okay we’d like to keep in contact with

you. Because...I don’t know, Mom was so obsessed with looking for you that it seems like a waste not to speak to you again.”

She hasn’t moved your hand from her back, and she still looks so upset, so you scoot a little closer. Your arm goes around her shoulders and she tenses, then relaxes.

“And hey,” you continue, “As a show of goodwill...Tom, did you bring them?”

“You bet I did!” Tom reaches into his pockets, pulling out the CDs.

“You’re giving them back?” Carmilla asks with a frown, “No. You should have them.”

“Hey, we’re not idiots,” you answer, “We made copies first. It’s all you have left of

her--if you decide not to talk to us anymore--and we want you to have them.”

“...I’ll give you my cell phone number.” Carmilla gets up, walking past Tom (who shrinks back as though Carmilla would burn on contact) to grab a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the kitchen.

“Here,” Carmilla says, tearing the paper off and handing it to Tom, who takes it gingerly between forefinger and thumb. He hands the pile of CDs to her.

“I’m not even sure I can watch these now,” she says, looking at them, “Not now, when she’s gone.”

“Keep them anyway,” Tom says with a smile, “For posterity?”

She narrows her eyes. “You did watch them. Haha, wonder twin,” Carmilla tucks the CDs into her pocket. “But you two should probably get home.”

“I don’t know if we want to,” Tom says, “Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch are going to be pissed.”

“One thing I know about Xena, is that she’s the most loyal person you will ever meet,” Carmilla answers, “Go home, guys. She’ll forgive you.”

You get up from the couch, lagging behind when Tom says goodbye to Carmilla and heads into the hallway.

“Give me a sec, Tom?”

“...Sure?” Tom closes the door.

“So,” you turn to her, “Where are you going to go now?”

She shrugs. “Here, there. Same as always. I’ll find a place I haven’t been yet.”

“You know, you could probably stay here. We wouldn’t mind having you around.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. Not for awhile. Same reason I haven’t been to Paris--too many memories.”

“I guess I understand.”

Carmilla crosses her arms, appraising you with a curious tilt of the head. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where are you living?”

You rub a hand through your hair. “I don’t know. I wanted to stay with Aunt Danny, but...now I’m not so sure. Everyone I’ve trusted has lied to me.”

“Her father didn’t.”

“What?”

“Mr. Hollis. Your grandfather. He was _woefully_ illiterate when it came to the internet. Never saw anything. And we didn’t see him too much, so hiding the fact I was a vampire was easy.”

You bite your lower lip. Huh.

“Carmilla, thank you. For the videos, and talking to me, and...well, you know.” Carmilla smiles, gentle and wistful.

“See you, cupcake. Call me when you get settled, wherever you end up.”

You open the door, and this time, you’re looking over your shoulder at her as you walk away.  

* * *

 

Neither of you are ready to go home yet, so you go to the mall, then a diner, then an arcade, and it’s only once the stars are out that you go back to the house.

The moment you both open the door and sneak in, you see that LaF and Aunt Perry left. You think that maybe Aunt Danny and Uncle Kirsch are in bed too--until you walk into the kitchen and see, in the family room, that Aunt Danny is sitting on the couch.

She doesn’t notice you. She’s engrossed in what she’s watching on the TV.

“...You should talk to her,” Tom whispers.

“Why me?”

“Because it’s obvious from the past few days that you’re the leader? And Aunt Danny always liked you better than me anyway.”

Tom always hated confronting anyone.

“Fine. You can go to bed.”

“Good luck,” he says as he walks out of the room. I’m going to need it.

You’re sure she must notice you when you walk into the family room; especially when you sit down next to her. For awhile you both sit in silence as you watch the TV. A lot of stations have been playing old interviews Mom had given. This one was when she was very young.

“...So, Ms. Hollis, how does it feel to be an overnight success?”

“You know, it’s so funny you say that! They always say, ‘it takes ten years to be an overnight success’. I feel like that. I know I’m young, but I feel like I’ve been climbing this mountain for years, and I’m finally at the top.”

“What’s next, then?”

And Mom grins. “I have a fiance. I have two wonderful kids. I have a successful career. The only thing left is to enjoy the view, I guess? Either way, I’m actually planning on pulling back for awhile. I have a family now, you know?”

“That was right before we went on vacation,” Aunt Danny whispers, muting the

TV. “Right before…” Her voice catches, “...everything that happened.”

She looks exhausted; her eyes are red and puffy. “Aunt Danny, I--”

“No, Jamie. Don’t. I told Wilson to go to bed, and I stayed down here. Just thinking and being angry...but then I couldn’t be angry anymore. Because you were right. I know how you feel--well, maybe felt now--about Laura, and I should have told you everything. I guess...I guess I wanted you to love me more than her. To get back at her for what she put me through. And that’s wrong. But can you blame me for wanting to leave that all behind? You saw what I went through. What we all had to do.”

You shake your head. You did. And you can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to do what she did.

“I understand, Aunt Danny.”

She turns so that she’s facing you. “Can you forgive me, then? All of us?”

“I think I can,” you answer, and you see her relax. Which makes what you say next even harder.

“...But Aunt Danny, we don’t want to stay here.”

“What?”

“Tom and I talked about it on the way home. We want to live with Grandpa.”

Aunt Danny doesn’t say anything.

“He doesn’t know, Aunt Danny. He’s the only one who hasn’t lied to us. And he deserves to have his daughter’s kids.”

“I guess I deserve it.”

 _“No._ Aunt Danny, I want to forgive you. But if Tom and I stay, right after all of this, it’s going to take a long time. We need space to figure everything out. I don’t know how long that’ll take, but it’s not going to happen here. Please.”

Aunt Danny stays silent for what seems like forever. “...You’ve always been as stubborn as Laura. One condition...you still know I love you, right?”

“Of course, Aunt Danny. You’re like a mother to me.”

She smiles, and she hugs you, and you think that maybe in a few months everything will be okay. That this will go back to being nice and not bittersweet.

* * *

 

You call the number the moment you step off the plane. It takes five rings before she picks up.

“...Carmilla Karnstein. Speak.”

“Thank God, I was honestly afraid this would be fake.”

“Jamie? Wow. Took you long enough.”

“It’s been a week, Carmilla. That’s like, nothing to a vampire.”

“Still. Where are you?”

“We just landed; we’re in Toronto. We’re staying with Grandpa.”

Tom walks up behind you, suitcases in both his hands. “Hey, did you call her? Tell her I said hi!”

“Is that the other Wonder Twin I hear?”

“Yep. He says hi.”

Tom nods, even though Carmilla obviously can’t see.

“Well, good to know you guys are staying with him. Charlie is a good guy, if a little overprotective. Still into bear spray?”

“Every Christmas,” you answer, and you hear Carmilla laugh at the other end of the line.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, Jamie, you going to ask her?”

You look at Tom. “Carmilla…”

“Yes, cupcake?”

As you both walk, searching for your Grandfather’s face, you talk to her.

“...We wouldn’t do it unless you were okay with it.”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. “I guess I am. Not like he could kill me.”

“Is that it?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, do you think we should show Grandpa the videos at all?” Carmilla takes a moment to answer.

“...If you think it’s a good idea, you should show them. She’s _your_ mother, kid. It isn’t my place. But I think...I think Mr. Hollis would be happy to have something, if you want my opinion.”

You smile. “Thank you. And hey...you know, Toronto’s a nice city. You should come visit sometime.”

“Maybe. Beijing _is_ getting kind of boring--”

You see Grandpa’s face; you wave.

“Sorry, got to go!”

“Sure, Jamie. Take care.”

You hang up. It definitely won’t be the last time.

Grandpa grabs you both in a bear hug, and you smile even as you’re complaining that you can’t breathe. He puts your bags in the car and you drive to your new house. The house your Mom grew up in.

“I got everything ready for you kids,” he says as he opens the door, “Tom, you’ll have the guest room, it’s to your left...and Jamie, I set up Laura’s old room for you. I thought that would be nice. I hope everything’s okay.”

“It’s great, Grandpa,” Tom answers, “Right Jamie?”

“Absolutely!” Grandpa brings your suitcase up to your room. It’s smaller than your old one, but it was your mother’s, and that makes it better.

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Of course! You’re welcome. I was so happy when Danny called and said you wanted to stay here...I would have never forced you to move, of course, but I missed my grandkids.”

“I missed you too. Can I show you something?”

“Anything, kiddo.”

You take out your laptop. “Sit? It’s...kind of a surprise.”

Tom pokes his head in. “Are you showing him?”

“Yeah!”

“Cool!” Tom settles in between both of you, and as you press play and Mom’s face fills the screen again, Grandpa looks like he’s in awe--then looks down and back up again, as if he can’t believe this is his daughter. You smile, tears filling your eyes.

You really miss your Mom.

 

 

 


End file.
